


How to Be a Rock Star

by BeckyHarvey29



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Jealous Ian Gallagher, Jealousy, M/M, Musician Mickey, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Writer Ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyHarvey29/pseuds/BeckyHarvey29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher is a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine, who is assigned to go on the road with the hot new rock band, The Mongers. Mickey Milkovich is the lead singer of the band,  who really just wants Ian to stay out of his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to [Laura](http://the-rat-wins.tumblr.com/) for being super awesome and letting me bug her about this thing! <3

Ian Gallagher walked into the offices of Rolling Stone Magazine, intent on keeping his head down and bee-lining straight for his cubicle. He didn’t want to talk to anyone face to face just yet, knowing that he probably looked like absolute shit. He maybe even smelled like it, too, since he’d skipped his usual morning shower in lieu of a few extra minutes of sleep.

He had gone out for a friend’s birthday the night before, and had only gotten a few hours of sleep. He hoped to just be able to seclude himself in his cubicle all day, delve headfirst into his workload, and maybe even sneak in a few winks of sleep here and there at his desk. 

After narrowly avoiding a couple of his coworkers, who would undoubtedly give him crap for showing up at work hungover, Ian made it safely to his cubicle and sat down at his cluttered desk. He pulled the iPod earbuds from his ears, groaned dramatically, and rested his pounding head on his folded arms. 

What the fuck had he been thinking going out on a Wednesday night? And why the hell did he think it would be a good idea to do three Irish Car Bombs? 

“Long night?” 

Ian’s head shot up, and he instantly relaxed when he saw that his visitor was his best friend Max, who was bearing a piping cup of hot coffee. Ian accepted the coffee almost greedily. 

“Thanks.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Ian said again, this time less graciously. He sipped at the coffee and relished the feeling of the hot liquid sliding down his rough, sore throat. 

Max walked further into Ian’s cubicle, rested his butt against Ian’s desk, and crossed his arms casually. “So, why do you look like death warmed over?”

Ian took another sip before replying. “Went out for a few drinks for a friend’s birthday last night,” he said. “May have gone a little overboard.” 

“Well, you better get yourself together, man,” Max said, clapping Ian hard on the shoulder. “Boss lady wants to see ya.” 

Ian had been in the process of taking another sip of his coffee when this little bit of information hit his ears. Before he knew exactly what was happening, he was jolting backwards, and hot coffee was running down the front of his slightly-wrinkled, button-down shirt. 

“Shit!”

Max laughed and pushed away from the desk. “You’re a damn mess, man. Get yourself together.” Just before he turned to leave, Max said, “Let me know what she says.” 

Ian sighed heavily once he was alone, and wiped at his shirt with an old napkin from yesterday’s lunch, but it only seemed to make the stain worse. He gave up and threw the napkin away before standing up reluctantly. 

He had to go face his editor with bloodshot eyes, a stained shirt, and whiskey breath. 

_Great._

Ian left the safety of his cubicle and made his way through the bustling office. He nodded and waved back at his coworkers, all the while grumbling under his breath. 

So much for staying under the radar all day.

Once Ian got to his editor’s office, he knocked and then entered after hearing the muffled ‘come in'. 

Ian was greeted with a manicured finger in the air; an indication from his boss to wait a minute while she finished her phone conversation. Ian nodded and sat down in one of the leather chairs in front of her large, mahogany desk and waited.

While he waited, Ian took a look around the large office, secretly marveling at the classy, expensive decor. It was definitely a step up from his cramped, four-by-six cubicle and Ikea desk chair.

“Sorry about that,” Belinda Michaelson said after hanging up the phone. “That was Rihanna’s publicist. It’s _always_ Rihanna’s publicist.”

“It’s all good,” Ian said coolly, trying not to look his boss directly in the eye. 

“So, how are things with you, Ian?”

“Uh,” Ian stammered. He ran a hand nervously over his hair, remembering that he had forgotten to comb it before leaving his shitty studio apartment that morning. “Things are … they’re good. I’m working on that Macklemore piece now. It’s … coming along good,” he lied, considering he hadn’t even started on that project yet. 

“I read the piece you did last week on Azalea’s new album. It was good. _Really_ good. I was impressed.”

“It was more like a snippet,” Ian said, hoping that his boss didn’t want to delve too deep into that topic, considering Ian’s little sister Debbie had listened to the album and had relayed her opinions back to Ian. He may have borrowed Debbie’s opinions and insights for his article, but his boss didn’t need to know any of that.

Ian just really couldn’t see himself sitting through fifty-seven minutes of Iggy Azalea’s music. He didn’t get paid enough for that. 

“I have another assignment for you,” Belinda continued. “It’s a big one, but I think you’re ready.”

Ian perked up at this piece of information. He had been waiting for this. A big assignment. Maybe even his breakout assignment.

“How … how big?”

“Huge.”

Ian swallowed his excitement and nervously rubbed at his hair again. “And you want me to do it? You have a lot of other people here who would probably be better at it, who have been here a lot longer than I have. Why me?” 

“Are you saying I should give the assignment to someone else?” Belinda asked as she arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“No,” Ian answered quickly. “No, I’m not saying that at all. I just … why me?” 

“Have you ever heard of The Mongers?”

“Yeah, of course I have,” Ian answered. “They’re like the hottest fucking rock band out right now. Their song just reached number one on the Billboard charts.” 

“Right,” Belinda said. “They’re from Chicago. South Side. Isn’t that where you grew up?” 

“Yeah, Canaryville,” Ian said. “I grew up a few blocks away from the Milkoviches, actually. They moved away with their mom when I was about ten, though. Crazy to think how far they’ve made it. It's rare for anyone to get out of that shit hole.” 

“Yeah, well, they’re hot right now. Really hot. They’re going on a small tour in a couple of days. They’re hitting small venues, and doing about twelve shows in a period of three weeks to promote their upcoming album.”

“Okay,” Ian said slowly, narrowing his eyes and waiting. 

“Here’s the thing, Ian. They’ve agreed to allow one of our guys to tour with them for the three weeks that they’re on the road. They’re allowing us to get a firsthand look at their daily lives, behind-the-scenes happenings, insight on their backstory … the whole nine yards. It’s huge,” Belinda explained before pausing dramatically. “And I want you to do it.” 

“Wha—what? Me?”

“Why not? You’re around their age, you’re South Side like they are, you're a good writer. It only makes sense. Of course, you’ll have to check in with me every couple of days, so that I know you’re on the right track, but I really think you can handle this, Ian.”

Ian’s mouth opened a few times before he finally found his words. “Me? You want me to do it? You want me to … to go on tour with The Mongers for three weeks and write a feature, full-length article?” 

“Yes,” Belinda said. “It could be your big break." She then leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs as she assessed his reaction. "Unless you don’t want it. I can ask someone else. I’m sure anyone else would jump at the chance to—” 

“No,” Ian interrupted quickly. “No, I want it.” He then broke into a slow grin and sat back in his chair once it finally began to sink in. 

Up until now, Ian had only written small snippets and unimportant drabbles for the magazine. This was something he never thought would happen, at least not this soon in his career. He knew—by taking this assignment—that his whole life could possibly change.

“I want it.”

  


* * *

  


Later that night, Ian had just settled down on his worn couch with his TV dinner, when there was a knock on the door. He rested his head against the back of the couch and sighed heavily, silently cursing whoever had decided to interrupt his evening. He had been looking forward to eating his processed meat and potatoes, catching up on his DVR, and crashing for the rest of the night.

After contemplating whether or not to let whoever was on the other side of the door to keep knocking until they finally got the hint, Ian stood up and walked to the door.

His boyfriend, Tim, was on the other side.

Ian used the term boyfriend really, _really_ loosely. 

In fact, Ian and Tim had met at a bar seven months earlier, and—even though Ian had only meant for it to be a quick one-night-stand—Tim didn’t seem to want to go away. Ian kept him around—for the most part—because the fucking was decent, and having someone there was sort of comforting.

Ian figured it was better than being alone. 

“Hi,” Tim said, leaning against the door frame and smiling lasciviously. 

“Hey,” Ian said, trying to hide his disappointment. Even though he didn’t care about Tim nearly as much as Tim seemed to care about him, Ian didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He forced a small smile for the other man's benefit. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming over until tomorrow night?”

Tim shrugged, and then grabbed a handful of Ian’s t-shirt, pulling him closer. “I know, but I wanted to see you.” 

“You should have called first,” Ian said, trying to keep his tone light. “I was out late last night and had a long day at work. Kinda just wanted to relax for the rest of the night and go to sleep early.”

“I’m down for that.” Tim leaned in and pecked Ian chastely on the lips before brushing past him and walking further into the apartment. “So, what are we watching?” 

Ian stared at the spot where Tim had been standing, before turning to watch as Tim made himself comfortable on the couch, the remote already in his hand. 

Eventually, Ian begrudgingly gave in, closed the door, and sat down next to Tim on the couch.

Tim may not be the great love of his life, and Ian wasn’t completely content with their whole situation, but Tim was there and Tim liked him. For now, that was good enough for Ian. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have more than that. 

After watching the TV for a few minutes, Ian looked down at his gross, microwaved dinner, and then snuck a sideways glance at Tim. He realized that leaving his current life behind for a few weeks was starting to sound a little more appealing. 

He really fucking needed a change.

  


* * *

  


Mickey Milkovich picked up the last of his luggage and threw it in haphazardly with the rest of the bags under the bus. 

“Be careful, douchebag,” Mickey’s sister, Mandy, warned. “You’ll ruin my shit.”

“Don’t worry, your fucking tampons are still in one piece,” Mickey said as he cupped his hand around his cigarette to shield it from the wind as he lit it. 

Mandy smirked before stealing the cigarette right from his lips and taking a drag. “That writer guy is going to be here any minute. Better be on your best behavior, or Kev’s going to have your ass … and not in the good way.”

Mickey scoffed and stole his cigarette right back from her. “I still think it’s a stupid fucking idea letting some asshole writer tag along with us. Who the fucks bright idea was that again?”

“It’s for Rolling Stone, Mick. Rolling _fucking_ Stone!” Mandy exclaimed. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be good for us. We can’t turn down that type of publicity.”

“Yeah, well… all I know is the dickhead better stay out of my way,” Mickey snipped. He then watched as his sister rolled her eyes, and then made her way over to where their brother Iggy was standing with their manager and a few members of their stage crew.

Mickey grumpily puffed on his cigarette and leaned back against the tour bus as he got lost in his thoughts.

He didn’t like the fact that some strange fucking guy was tagging along with them on tour. He didn’t like the fact that his personal life was going to be out in the open for some fucking moron to examine and write a shitty article about. 

Mickey especially didn’t like the fact that—as long as this fucking guy was around—he would have to be extra discreet and careful about the fact that he liked to pick up random male groupies and get fucked in the ass. 

The only people in the entire world who knew Mickey’s deep, dark secret (aside from the groupies he took a chance with and bribed into not talking) was Mandy, Iggy, and their manager, Kevin. He knew if his secret got out, it would be a huge hit to their reputation. No one wanted to listen to hardcore rock music with a fag as the lead singer. 

Just then, a beat-up, silver Toyota Prius pulled up and everyone turned to watch as a tall redhead stepped out of the car. 

Mickey snorted. “Who the fuck invited Archie?” 

The group watched as the guy began heading towards them, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and a laptop case tucked under his other arm. He had on douchebag designer sunglasses, loafers, and a flannel shirt.

Mickey thought the guy couldn’t be any more fucking lame. 

“ _That’s_ the writer for Rolling Stone?” Mandy roughly whispered next to Mickey. “He’s, like, fucking twelve.” 

“I’m twenty-four, actually,” the redhead said as he stopped in front of them. An awkward silence followed as they continued to size him up. 

When neither Mickey nor Mandy spoke, he continued awkwardly. “I’m Ian Gallagher… with Rolling Stone Magazine. I’m, uh, I guess I’m tagging along with you guys for the next few weeks.” 

Mickey took in the guy’s nervous demeanor, his stupid freckled face, and the way his lopsided grin spread across his entire dumb face.

Mickey flicked his cigarette to the ground, turned away from the guy’s outstretched hand, and got onto the tour bus without saying a word. 

As Mickey was making his way towards the back of the bus to claim his bunk, he heard the kid ask, “Did I do something wrong?” through an open window. 

Mickey chuckled sarcastically and crawled into his claimed bottom bunk. 

No, the guy didn’t do anything wrong. As long as he stayed the fuck out of Mickey’s way, he was good.

  


* * *

  


Ian stared dumbfounded at the door to the tour bus after Mickey Milkovich walked away, before turning his eyes to Mandy Milkovich, who was watching him with crossed arms and a smirk. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Ian asked.

He had heard things about the Milkovich siblings through the industry grapevine. He'd heard how they liked to keep their private lives relatively private; how they (the brothers mostly) sometimes had snarky attitudes and fits of rage towards the paparazzi and reporters (which Ian couldn’t really blame the siblings for; the paparazzi were fucking relentless pieces of shit).

Experiencing one of the Milkovich brothers’ attitudes firsthand, though, was a little disconcerting to say the least, considering Ian had to spend the next three weeks on a tour bus with the guy. 

Mandy—or Mindy, Ian couldn’t really remember—finally backed down, uncrossed her arms, and relaxed. “Don’t mind my brother. He’s just pissy because he’s not exactly on board with this whole shit show.”

“And by this whole shit show, you mean me tagging along with you guys?” 

“That would be the shit show, yeah.” 

“I … but my boss said that you guys were okay with all of this.”

“No,” Mandy drawled. “Our _manager_ is okay with all of this. Our _publicist_ is okay with this. We didn’t really get a say in any of it. We never get a say in any of it.” 

Ian ran a hand through his hair, noticing that the humidity was already starting to bring out his curls. _Fucking humidity._

“Well, I don’t want him to be upset that I’m here. I’m only doing my job. I promise I’m legit, and nothing will go in the article that you guys don’t want in the article.”

Mandy snorted. “Yeah, we’ve heard that one before.” 

Ian frowned, not liking that his integrity was being questioned. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off. 

"What's up, my man?" A tall man with a ponytail walked over and immediately jutted his hand in Ian’s direction. “You must be the guy from Rolling Stone. I’m Kevin Ball, the manager. Good to have you.”

With Mandy’s words still resonating in his head, Ian wasn’t nearly as excited about the whole situation as he had been just ten minutes ago. He shook Kevin’s hand and forced a small smile. "Thanks. Good to be here."

“So, I guess the deal is you’re going to ride with the siblings for the duration of the tour, and get whatever information you need for your article.”

“That’s the deal,” Ian said monotonously. 

“Alright, my man. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Kevin said before clapping Ian hard on the shoulder and walking away.

“We’re all half-convinced he does meth,” Mandy said once Kevin was far enough away and out of earshot. She then pointed to a scruffy blond guy standing a few yards away, helping to load music equipment into the second tour bus. “That’s our older brother Iggy. He’s the drummer.”

“And you’re…?”

“Bass guitarist.” 

“Bad ass,” Ian quipped with a grin.

“Fucking right I’m bad ass,” Mandy said, smiling back. “Mickey is the lead singer, and he plays the electric guitar.” 

Ian nodded, thinking that the mental image that suddenly formed in his head wasn’t so bad; a sweaty, red-faced Mickey Milkovich with his nice lips pressed against a microphone as his tattooed fingers strummed a guitar.

He then realized what he was thinking and squashed those thoughts immediately. 

“Alright, dickheads!” Kevin yelled, his voice booming across the parking lot. “Time to get this shit show on the road!” 

Mandy nodded her head towards the bus. “Come on, Ian Gallagher. Hope you’re ready. It’s going to be a hell of a ride.” 

Ian sucked in a deep breath and watched as Mandy climbed the four steps and disappeared into the tour bus. He slowly released his breath and followed after her.

  


* * *

  


Mickey was still relaxing in his bunk when Mandy and Ian entered the tour bus. He rested his forearm across his eyes, hoping Mandy had the good sense to leave him the fuck alone for awhile. 

Apparently, she didn’t. “Hey, shithead.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mickey muttered. He removed his arm from over his eyes to find that Ian was standing awkwardly behind his sister. “You two best fucking friends now?” 

“Be nice, asshole,” Mandy said, kicking Mickey in the side with the heel of her boot. “He’s just doing his job.” 

“Doesn’t mean I gotta fucking like the guy,” Mickey snipped, avoiding the redhead’s eyes at all costs. 

“You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here, okay? I’m cool. You don’t have to worry.”

“Oh!” Mickey exclaimed sarcastically as he swung his legs to sit up. “Oh, well, if he says he’s cool, he must be cool then! My bad, man!” 

“You’re such a dick,” Mandy muttered. 

“And you’re a dumbass for just trusting anyone,” Mickey snapped. “You know we can’t trust anyone in this fucking world but us. You don’t know this kid. Who knows what kinda shit he’s going to write about us.” 

“Look, I wouldn’t do that,” Ian interrupted, “and I’m not a damn kid, alright.”

Mickey chuckled dryly and scratched his hand through his hair. 

When awkward silence settled around them, someone called Mandy’s name from the front of the bus. 

“I gotta go see what that’s about. Just don’t kill him. We don’t need the bad press,” Mandy joked before leaving the two of them alone. 

Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes boring into him. “The fuck are you looking at?” he finally snapped.

“What do I have to do to prove to you that you can trust me? That I’m not going to write some bullshit article.” 

“Leave,” Mickey retorted, finally looking Ian dead in the eyes to get his point across. “That would be a start.”

Ian nodded curtly, and then he turned to place his bag and laptop in the bunk directly across from Mickey’s. “Well, sorry, but I’m not leaving. You’re stuck with me. This is a big opportunity for me and I can’t pass it up,” he said. He then turned back around to face a disgruntled Mickey. 

“What the fuck ever. Stay, but you ain’t gettin’ shit outta me,” Mickey grumbled as he relaxed back into his bunk and placed his arm back over his eyes, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to get rid of the guy’s ass anytime soon. He seemed to be a persistent motherfucker. “Get the hell outta here and let me sleep.” 

“I don’t know what happened to you that you find it so hard to trust people, but I’m going to prove you wrong about me.” 

Mickey could sense Ian watching him and waiting for a response. He didn’t get one. 

Finally, Ian took the hint and headed towards the front of the bus. 

“Yeah,” Mickey muttered sardonically under his breath once he was alone. "Good fucking luck with that."


	2. The Rules

The tour bus finally started and pulled out onto the road.

Ian figured there was no turning back now. 

After leaving Mickey alone in his bunk to sulk, Ian found Mandy in the small kitchenette space of the tour bus, and slipped into the small booth across from her. 

For some reason, Ian already felt comfortable around her, like they could have been best friends in another life. Maybe it was because she was the only member of the band so far that didn’t want to tear his head off.

“Your brother hates me.”

“Don’t take it to heart. My brother hates everyone.”

Ian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, knowing that this whole thing would never work if the lead fucking singer of the band didn’t want to cooperate. 

How can he write a feature, full-length article if Mickey Milkovich didn’t want any part of it? He would have to find some way to get Mickey to trust him and open up. 

Ian was beginning to wonder if any of this would be worth it in the end; if any of this would be worth leaving his real life behind for weeks.

He then reminded himself of the potential to move ahead in his career. He had a feeling he would have to remind himself of that a lot these next few weeks.

“Why _is_ he so closed off, anyway?”

Mandy snorted a little and threw him a look. “Do I look stupid to you? Like I’m going to tell you that.”

Before Ian could respond, the blond, scrappy Milkovich brother came barging out of the small bathroom. “Do we have any air freshener on this piece of shit bus? I blew it the fuck up in there.” He immediately stopped talking when he spotted Ian sitting with his sister. “Who the fuck is this?”

Mandy slapped the table in front of her and looked at her brother as if he was a moron. “Really?”

Iggy sucked his teeth. “Yeah, bitch, really. Who is he?”

“He’s the fucking guy from Rolling Stone that’s going to be with us all tour. We’ve told you about him at least fifty times. Even had a meeting about it the other night.” 

It seemed to take Iggy a minute before it sank in. “Oh,” he said dumbly. He then focused his glare on Ian. “Just don’t touch my fucking cereal and we’ll be cool. Got it?” 

Ian nodded slowly with narrowed eyes, not knowing how to take this guy. “Yeah. Got it.” 

At least this guy seemed to be more welcoming than Mickey.

“Where’s Mickey?” Iggy asked.

“In the back pouting like a bitch ‘cause Raggedy Andy is tagging along with us.” 

Ian opened his mouth to defend himself, but then shut it with a resigned sigh, knowing it was useless.

Iggy began walking through the bus towards the back, stopping to grab Mandy in a headlock and giving her a noogie on the way.

“Cut it out, asshole!” Mandy exclaimed, punching Iggy hard in the gut. 

“Ow, bitch,” Iggy said, somewhat affectionately, as he backed off. “Anyone ever tell you that you punch like a fucking dude.” 

Ian watched as Iggy disappeared behind the curtain that separated the back of the bus from the front. He then looked at Mandy and watched as she fixed her messy hair.

“Sorry about that, Iggy’s a bit of a fucking spaz,” Mandy explained with a sneer. “Feel free to put that in your article.”

Before Ian could respond, Mickey came walking out from behind the curtain, clearly perturbed by Iggy’s presence. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, can’t a guy get some fuckin’ privacy around here?” 

“You _do_ realize we’re on a fucking tour bus, don’t you?” Mandy retorted. “You’re not going to have any privacy for the next three weeks. Get used to it.”

Mickey scoffed and sneered at his sister, and then turned his attention to Ian. “The fuck’re you looking at?” 

“An asshole,” Ian quipped back sarcastically before he could think it fully through.

Mandy and Iggy both let out appreciative noises over Ian’s remark, while Mickey continued glaring at Ian disdainfully. If Ian didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he saw the corner of Mickey’s mouth twitch upwards just the slightest little bit.

Mickey continued to glare at Ian as he walked to the small fridge to grab a bottled water. He took a swig of his water before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still fixed glaringly on Ian. 

“Alright,” Mickey finally said bluntly. “Since I don’t seem to have a choice in any of this shit, I guess we’re fuckin' doing this. But there needs to be fuckin’ rules, needs to be boundaries if we’re stuck with your ass.” 

Ian nodded in agreement, secretly glad that Mickey was willing to accept his presence even just a little bit. “Yeah. Boundaries. Got it. I have no problems with boundaries. Just name 'em.”

“Rule number one,” Mickey snipped, “Stay out of my way. I’ll talk when I’m ready to talk, I’ll tell you what I want you to know…nothing more. Got it?” On Ian’s nod, Mickey continued. “Rule number two, don’t touch any of my shit. You touch my guitar, I’ll break every knuckle on your hand.”

Seriously, what was up with this guy? He had a major fucking stick up his ass, Ian thought to himself. 

Ian just sighed and ran a hand down his face. He looked up to find Mickey watching him with raised eyebrows, waiting for Ian’s acknowledgment. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Your shit is off limits. I got it. What else?” 

“Rule number three,” Mickey continued, to which Mandy and Iggy snickered. He shot them both a dark look before going on. “My sister is off limits, you hear me? We’re all going to be stuck on this fuckin’ bus together for three weeks, I don’t need to hear you two bangin’ it out right next to me.” 

“I fucked someone on the bus next to you _one_ time,” Mandy defended.

“Yeah, and it was fuckin’ disgusting,” Mickey barked back. “I don’t need to be hearing that shit.”

“I…” Ian began, and then shut his mouth. He didn’t know if it was really necessary to tell the three of them that he was gay, but he said the words anyway after a pause. “I’m gay. So…yeah. Don’t have to worry about me touching your sister.”

Ian's words hung heavily in the air. 

Mandy was the first to react with a dry chortle. “Of course you’re gay,” she grumbled around the mouth of her water bottle. “All of the hot ones usually are.” 

Ian bravely looked in Mickey’s direction and was surprised to see that Mickey was looking straight back at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Mickey quickly looked away and turned his back to Ian.

Ian was left perplexed, wondering what the hell that look had been about.

“Look, man,” Iggy spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “I don’t care about you or where you like to stick your dick. Just keep your dick away from me and we’ll be cool.” 

“Yeah. Don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Ian said dryly. He looked back over at Mickey just in time to see Mickey heading back towards the back of the bus.

“What the fuck ever,” Mickey said over his shoulder. “I said what I needed to say. Now let me get some fucking sleep.” And, with that, Mickey disappeared behind the curtain. 

The rest of the ride towards their first stop was filled with awkward silence, and a game of Gin Rummy where Ian got his ass handed to him by both Iggy and Mandy.

So far, the trip was off to a rocky start.  


  


* * *

  


  
A little over an hour later, the tour bus pulled to the side of the road.

They were on a stretch of highway where restaurants and gas stations were few and far between, so they took the opportunity to get out and stretch their legs, and grab something to eat.

Mickey hopped off the bus last and made a beeline right past them, lighting up a cigarette as he went.

Ian watched after him with a gentle shake of his head. 

“Come on,” Mandy said, linking her arm through Ian’s. “Let’s grab something to eat and I’ll answer some of your questions. Mickey will come around sooner or later. Just give him time. He’s a stubborn fuck, but he’s not a bad guy.”

Ian smiled down at her, once again thankful to have at least someone on his side.  


  


* * *

  


  
A few minutes later, Ian was walking through the aisles of the large gas station, perusing the shelves for snacks to buy for the road. He wasn’t paying attention, and only looked up when Mickey bumped into him, which caused Mickey to drop the canister of barbecue Pringles he held in his hand. 

“Jesus, walk much?” 

“Pretty sure you bumped into me, asshole,” Ian snipped.

“Whatever,” Mickey grumbled, bending down to retrieve his chips. “Fuck off,” he snapped before roughly brushing past Ian and walking off. 

Ian’s jaw tightened and he breathed through his nostrils a couple of times before spinning around. “Seriously? What the fuck is your problem?” 

Mickey froze in his steps, his back still turned to Ian.

Ian shrugged stiffly even though Mickey couldn’t see him. “I get it, alright? I fuckin’ get it. You don’t want me here, you hate my guts, and you want me gone. Whatever. But I’m not leaving. So can you please just be a decent fucking human being and let me do my fuckin’ job?”

Mickey finally turned around, his tongue darting over his bottom lip as he glared back at Ian.

Ian shrugged again, his tough guy act softening a little under Mickey’s scrutiny.

“Make your job easier for you, huh? Fuck what I want or think? As long as you get your shitty article and your fat fuckin’ paycheck, right?”

Ian’s shoulders slumped. He ran a hand over his hair and looked around the bustling gas station, spotting Mandy and Iggy over by the beer, arguing about something among themselves, completely unaware of the confrontation between Ian and their brother.

When he looked back at Mickey, he knew what he had to do. He knew that this was never going to work.

“Fine. You win, okay? I’m out. I’m done.” He watched as Mickey’s expression remained the same. “I don’t want to be here if you don’t want me here. I respect that and I’ll get out of your way.”

Mickey still didn’t say anything, only continued to watch Ian warily.

“I’ll…I’m only a couple hours away from home, so I’ll just have my…” He wanted to say boyfriend but didn’t for some reason. “I’ll have someone come pick me up or take a Greyhound, or something. I'll figure it out.” He placed his bag of Combos back on the shelf, and then he headed for the door to grab his things from the bus. 

Just as he pushed his way outside into the blinding sun, he heard his name being called. He turned around to find Mickey standing behind him.

Mickey clearly looked uncomfortable as his eyes darted around the parking lot. He reached up and thumbed at his lower lip. “Fuck,” he breathed, and then ran a hand down his face. “You don’t have to go, alright. Quit being so fuckin’ dramatic.”

Ian stared back at Mickey disbelievingly. He shuffled his weight back and forth a few times, and he held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “Wait…what?” he asked after a drawn-out pause.

Mickey finally looked Ian in the eye, only to look away a split second later. “You don’t have to fuckin’ go. Stay and do your article, or whatever.”

“But…why?” Ian asked, mentally kicking himself in the ass, and hoping his stupid question wasn’t going to cause Mickey to change his mind.

“The fuck you gotta know why for? I said you don’t have to fuckin’ go, can’t that just be the end of it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Fine, fuck! Jesus.” Mickey exclaimed. “It’s because…because you were just now willing to walk away just because I didn’t want you here. You were going to walk away from your shit article just because I wanted you to, so I guess…fuck…I guess it just fuckin’ shows me that—”

“That I’m a decent person? That I’m not a douchebag?” Ian interrupted, smiling gently, still shielding his eyes from the sun. 

“No,” Mickey said. “I still think you’re a douchebag. I just know now that if I ever want you to just drop it all and walk away, you would. Not many people in your fucking position would do that.”

Ian shrugged. “I told you, you can trust me.” 

“Alright, let’s not get too fuckin’ hasty here,” Mickey said, lighting up a cigarette. “No one said anything about trusting your ass.” 

Mandy and Iggy came walking out of the gas station then, both of them looking back and forth between Ian and Mickey. 

“What’s going on out here?” Mandy asked warily. 

“I think your brother and I just came to some sort of a truce.”

Mickey snorted and smoke billowed from his nostrils. “Yeah. Whatever. We ready to get back on the fuckin’ road or not, assholes?” 

Ian, Mandy, and Iggy followed Mickey back to the bus. 

Iggy fell into step with Ian, side-eyeing him. “You smoke?” 

“No,” Ian said, watching as Iggy held out his cigarette for him to take.

“You do now,” Iggy said. 

Ian gave into the peer pressure and reluctantly took the cigarette. He then fell back a little to watch as the three siblings bickered and climbed back onto the bus. 

He had only been on the bus with the band for a couple of hours, but he already felt as if he could write a fucking book about them.  


  


* * *

  


  
A little while later, Ian sat down with Mandy at the small table, while Iggy and Mickey were at the back of the bus writing songs.

Ian would have loved to sit back there with them and witness the whole songwriting process, but he knew better than to ask if he could. Even though Mickey was finally starting to come around to the idea of Ian being there, Ian knew he still had a long way to go before Mickey would open up to him. 

The ball was in Mickey’s court. Ian would just have to accept that and take whatever Mickey was willing to share with him.

Mandy, on the other hand, seemed pretty open to his questions. 

Ian asked her to give him a rundown of how the band started.

It was a typical story, she said.

She told Ian all about growing up in the South Side of Chicago, and living well under the poverty line (which Ian totally related to). She told him about their abusive, alcoholic prick of a father, who beat and degraded them on a daily basis. She told Ian about their mother, who one night had decided that she and her kids had had one too many beatings, and had finally left the fucking asshole for good.

She told Ian about how they had moved to Detroit to live with an aunt. The siblings had all blossomed in their new environment. They actually started going to school and getting good grades; actually started making good decisions and caring about their futures.

The three siblings and a friend from the neighborhood had decided to start a band for fun one night while they were lounging around their Aunt’s garage. It had stuck. Turned out, they had been pretty fucking good. 

Mandy had started out on lead vocals at first, but one night Iggy and Mandy had caught Mickey sitting by himself in the garage, strumming his guitar and singing an original song he had penned in minutes. Mandy described it as _‘fucking incredible, his voice.’_ Mickey became the designated lead singer soon after that, even though he had fought them tooth-and-nail about it at first.

Over the years, they booked gig after gig at local fairs and malls, and then eventually moved up to bars and nightclubs. After a while, they were well-known around the Detroit area and started selling out even bigger shows. 

Finally, the right person came along and discovered them. There were negotiations made and contracts signed, a lot of promotional press and gigs, and now here they were; on top of the charts and touring for three weeks to promote their new album. 

Ian listened attentively as he tapped away on his laptop, typing up notes. When Mandy was finally finished giving him the rundown of the band’s origins, he looked up and eyed her somber expression. 

“Sorry… about everything with your dad.”

The corner of Mandy’s lip quirked upwards, and she shrugged a bare, slim shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re all pretty much over it. Scumbag is still living in South Side. We haven’t seen him since we left. He tries to contact us all the time for money, though.” She then paused and looked down at her hands. “I’d spit in his face if I ever saw him again.”

“I grew up in South Side with a fucked up dad, too. Not quite as fucked up as yours, though.”

“No, shit. You’re from South Side? Squeaky-clean, preppy boy like you from the South Side?”

Ian smirked. “I’m not as squeaky-clean as you think.”

“No way you have a bad bone in your body!”

“Hey, I can be bad!” Ian defended with a laugh. 

Just as soon as the words were out of Ian’s mouth, Mickey appeared from behind the curtain. He tossed Ian and Mandy a quick glance before walking to the mini-fridge.

“The fuck’re you two talking about? Surprised you’re not out here braiding each other’s fuckin’ hair by now.” Mickey grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, and then he turned to regard them with a raised eyebrow.

Ian looked away from Mickey’s stare and pretended to be typing on his laptop, his face feeling hot all of a sudden.

“I’m telling him how we got started,” Mandy answered. “About dad and Aunt Mae and everything.”

“The fuck, Mandy!” Mickey barked. 

“Relax, asshole, I didn’t tell him everything; just the basic, need-to-know shit.”

“Well, how about this? He don’t need to know shit! Dad is off fucking limits, you hear me? No one needs to know about that prick.”

Ian looked up and caught Mickey’s eyes again, seeing that Mickey was completely frustrated and wound up. Ian then—in the back of his mind—wondered what exactly Mandy wasn’t telling him. 

“This is bullshit,” Mickey muttered, rubbing a shaky hand over his face.

“He’s from South Side, Mick. He has a fucked up dad, too. He gets it.” 

Mickey removed his hand from his face and locked eyes with Ian again. “Fuck outta here, you’re from South Side.”

“Born and raised.”

“Fuck off, I don’t believe you.” 

“Why would I lie about something like that?” 

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Mickey said, waving a hand around. “To get a leg up on your dumbass article? I know you asshole reporters always have tricks up your sleeves.” 

Ian smirked. This guy was ridiculous. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Frank Gallagher.” 

“Yeah, I’ve fuckin’ heard of Frank Gallagher, who the fuck hasn’t,” Mickey snapped, and then he frowned. “The fuck. Frank Gallagher is your dad?” 

“Yeah,” Ian admitted sheepishly.

Mickey chuckled once, dryly, against the rim of his water bottle.

“How are you two dipshits doing back there?” Mandy asked, changing the subject. “You two write anything yet?”

“A few lines,” Mickey said blandly. “Iggy’s lighting up now. Maybe some pot will make the juices flow better.” He then threw Ian a dark look. “Gonna throw that in your article?”

Ian ignored the snarky question. “So, do you and Iggy do all the songwriting?” he asked, hoping to get a breadcrumb from Mickey. 

Mickey just looked at Ian, snorted, and then turned to head back to the bunks. 

“Sorry about that,” Mandy said when they were alone again. “He doesn’t like talking about that shit, not even with me and Iggy. His songwriting is personal to him. It takes a lot for him to even put the songs out there for our fans to hear. It took us a long time to convince him.” 

“So, he does all the songwriting then?”

“For the most part. Me and Iggy write stuff with him here and there, but it’s nowhere near as good as what Mickey comes up with on his own,” Mandy said. “Mickey’s been through a lot of shit in his life, he—” She then clamped her mouth shut and looked away. “Forget it. He’d strangle me if he knew I was talking to you about him.”

Ian nodded, his eyes focused on the table in front of him.

To say that Ian was intrigued by Mickey Milkovich was a bit of a fucking understatement.

“Who knows,” Mandy continued as she pulled a deck of cards towards her and began shuffling them. “Give him some time and maybe he’ll share some of his songs with you. He might surprise you. You wanna play?”

Ian forced a small smile and nodded, trying to get lost in the game of cards even though his mind remained on Mickey for the rest of the night.  


  


* * *

  


  
A little while later, Ian woke up with a full bladder and rolled sleepily out of his bunk. He stumbled in the dark, walked through the curtain, and then stopped in front of the small bathroom. Just as he was about to open the door, the door opened and a warm body crashed against Ian's bare chest.

“The fuck!”

Ian took a step back, fully awake now. He was face-to-face with a shirtless Mickey, their bodies only inches apart in the small space, the pale moonlight shining through a small window in the bathroom the only light.

Ian was breathless, his eyes focused on Mickey’s bare chest, and then dragging even lower to where Mickey's sweatpants hung low on his hips. When Ian slowly lifted his eyes to Mickey's, he could have sworn he caught Mickey looking at him, too. “S-sorry. I didn’t know you were in there.” 

Mickey’s eyes darted to take a peek at Ian's bare chest before he looked away quickly. He ran a hand over his face and made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “Whatever, man, just… get out of my way so I can go the fuck back to sleep.”

Ian dumbly nodded and stepped out of Mickey’s way. When Mickey’s warm, soft arm barely brushed against his, Ian felt his heart flutter a little in his chest. 

_Shit._

Finding Mickey Milkovich attractive was the last thing Ian fucking needed.

Ian silently chastised himself as he entered the bathroom, promising to stop thinking with his dick and start doing his damn job.


	3. The First Stop

The next morning, Ian awoke feeling disoriented and slightly confused about his surroundings. It took him almost a full minute to remember where he was and why he was there. 

He rubbed hard at his bleary eyes and moved to sit up. He hit his head hard on the top of the bunk he was in and groaned when his aching muscles protested his movements.

Ian was slightly above six feet tall, and sleeping in a five and a half foot long bunk wasn’t exactly comfortable. He figured he was going to have to get used to the cramped sleeping situation, considering the tour bus was his new digs for the next three weeks. 

As he tried to gather his bearings, he briefly thought about calling Tim to check in, but then decided against it. Right then, he needed caffeine. Tim could wait.

He rolled out of his bunk, stretched and yawned, and then made his way to the middle of the bus in search of that much-needed coffee. He wondered if there would be a decent place to do his usual morning run at their next stop. He didn’t want to fuck up his routine too badly, given his current circumstances. 

Judging by the snores coming from the other bunks, Ian figured he was the only one up besides the bus driver, and he was looking forward to a little alone time before dealing with the mayhem that the rest of the day was sure to bring. 

When he reached the small kitchenette, he realized he was wrong. He wasn’t the first one up.

Ian stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he spotted Mickey, half-contemplating turning around and heading back in the direction he came from before he was noticed. 

Mickey turned and lifted his head before Ian could escape, and they locked eyes. 

Suddenly, Ian was painfully reminded of their midnight encounter in front of the small bathroom the night before. 

“Hey,” Ian said awkwardly, feeling his cheeks flush and silently berating himself for being so fucking embarrassing. 

Mickey stared back at Ian disdainfully before looking away. "Hey," he replied bluntly.

Ian smirked, then rolled his eyes and shook his head. He then crossed his arms over his bare chest and watched as Mickey went about making a cup of coffee with the Keurig that was sitting on the provided foot of counter space. 

After a heavy pause, Ian sighed and went for it, knowing he had to clear the air. “Look, Mickey, about what happened last night—”

“What about last night?” Mickey snapped, glancing over his shoulder, but not exactly meeting Ian’s eyes. “Nothing happened last night.”

“I just—” Ian started, pausing to find the right words before continuing. “I don’t want shit to be awkward. You know my…situation…and I just want you to know that, you know, you don’t have anything to…to worry about. Just because I’m gay, it doesn’t mean I’m gonna hit on you or anything. You…you’re not even my type," he lied. "So…no worries.” 

“Damn fucking right you’re not gonna hit on me,” Mickey snapped as he dumped half a bowl of sugar into his steaming cup of coffee. "I'd kick your fuckin' ass."

Ian sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face, and then continued. “I just didn’t want it to seem like I was checking you out or anything, because I wasn’t.” 

Mickey slowly stirred his coffee before finally turning around to look at him. “Whatever, man,” he said bluntly. “Just keep your eyes, hands, and dick to yourself and we won’t have a problem.” 

“Don’t worry. My eyes, hands, and dick want nothing to do with you,” Ian said curtly, thinking to himself that Mickey Milkovich was the most pompous, hot-headed jerk that he’d ever come across…and he had met Kanye once. 

Ian was beginning to wonder if there was anything even remotely good or redeemable about this guy that he could put into his article. It was going to be really fucking hard painting this asshole in a positive light. 

“Good,” Mickey snipped as he brought his cup to his lips to take a sip. His eyes met Ian’s over the rim of his mug.

Ian stared back indignantly—giving Mickey the chin and all—even though his face felt hot and his pulse quickened. For some reason, being under Mickey’s scrutiny made Ian nervous. He needed to fix that really fucking quick. 

The awkward moment was interrupted when Mandy shuffled into the cramped space and grabbed a mug from the one cupboard the bus had. She went about making her own cup of coffee before finally turning around to eye the two idiots who were standing silently and throwing eye daggers at one another. 

“Jesus. Don't tell me you two are fighting again?” Mandy asked with a sigh. “I thought you got past the petty bullshit and called a truce?”

“Did,” Mickey said against the rim of his mug, “but that was before Archie over there decided to check me out last night.” 

“What, no…I didn’t!” Ian defended, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he looked back and forth between the two siblings. “I didn’t check him out!” he exclaimed again in Mandy’s direction. "I didn't!"

Mickey chuckled into his coffee mug. 

Ian realized he was being laughed at and his irritation grew. “Oh, fuck you,” he grumbled. 

“Ay, not my fault you’re too fuckin’ easy, man.”

“Mick, be nice to him,” Mandy said, which caused Ian to relax a little, knowing that at least someone was on his side. “Start wearing a shirt around the guy. Wouldn’t want him creaming his pants and getting embarrassed.” 

“You’re both assholes,” Ian groused before plopping down in the booth. 

Mandy tossed Ian a playful wink before going back to her coffee.

Ian stewed in his irritation for a few seconds more, before turning his attention back to Mickey, who was still watching him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Ian really fucking wished he knew how to read the guy. 

  


* * *

 

After arriving at the first stop of the tour, everyone exited the bus and stretched. 

Ian snuck a glance over in Mickey’s direction, his eyes narrowed as he watched the band’s frontman converse with a stage crew member. 

“You know, the more you stare at him, the more ammunition you give him,” Mandy said from behind him. 

“I’m not staring,” Ian said bitterly even as he resumed his staring. “Why’s he like that?”

“Like what?” 

“So antagonistic…so miserable.”

“I already told you; he’s been through a lot. He has his reasons for not trusting people; good fucking reasons,” Mandy said as they began heading towards the back of the venue where they were playing their show that night. 

“Well, I didn’t do shit to the guy.”

“Look,” Mandy said, suddenly turning around to face Ian. “ _That guy_ is my brother, and you’re starting to sound like a broken fucking record. For some reason, he doesn’t like you. He doesn’t trust you. All I can tell you is to just… get over it, stay out of his way, do your job. Stop trying to force it. The more you try to force it, the more you'll chase him off."

Ian ran a hand over his hair and nodded his head slightly, his eyes still on Mickey.

"And I'm always going to be on his side, okay? I like you. You're nice and sweet, and I think we can be really good friends, but I'm on his side. Got it?”

Ian watched dumbfounded as Mandy walked away from him. He scratched at the back of his neck and glanced around at the crew members milling around and carrying equipment around him.

He knew Mandy was right. He needed to stop worrying about why Mickey did or didn’t trust him; why he didn’t like him. He was there to do one thing and one thing only…to write an article and then move on with his life.

After that, Mickey Milkovich could fuck off for all Ian cared. 

  


* * *

 

Ian and the band were waiting in a small, stuffy room in the back of the small venue, waiting for showtime.

Mickey was pacing back and forth in the small space. “The fuck’s taking them so long? The fuckin’ show was supposed to start fifteen goddamn minutes ago.”

From his seat in the corner, Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Got something to fuckin’ say, Archie?” Mickey snapped. 

“Nope,” Ian retorted. “It’s just amusing, seeing you acting like a diva.” 

“The fuck you say, tough guy,” Mickey snarled, taking a step in Ian’s direction, but Mandy’s hand to his chest stopped him. 

“Relax…both of you,” Mandy scolded. “Jesus, it’s like being on tour with two fuckin’ toddlers.”

Mickey shot Ian one last disdainful look before resuming his pacing.

“You know what I don’t fuckin’ get?” Iggy piped in from where he was lazily sprawled out on a small sofa. “Why the fuck we’re still playing bars and nightclubs. Didn’t we already do this shit before we hit it big?”

“Don’t you listen to anything anyone fucking says at the meetings?” Mandy chided, which earned her a scowl from Iggy. “We’re playing smaller, more intimate venues to get more personal with the crowd. We’ll do the bigger venues after our album comes out.”

As Iggy and Mandy continued to bicker back and forth, Ian tuned them out and focused his attention on Mickey. His frown melted a little when he found Mickey staring down at the floor, his usual hardened features softened, and his teeth gnawing gently at his lower lip. He looked nervous. _Really_ fucking nervous. Maybe that was the real reason he had been lashing out at everyone all day.

Ian was slightly confused by this new, different side of Mickey. Maybe Mickey wasn’t so fucking heartless after all. 

The door to the small room opened, and Kevin poked his head inside. “You dickheads ready? It’s a packed house out there.”

“Been fuckin’ ready,” Mickey snapped, once again back to his regular, hard-ass self. 

Ian and the band filed out of the room and towards the sounds of the loud crowd awaiting them. Ian’s heart began to race as he prepared himself to witness The Mongers perform live for the very first time.

  


* * *

 

Ian stood at the foot of the stage with Kevin, the band's security, and some other people he didn’t really know yet, but was sure were important. Mickey and The Mongers had yet to step on stage, and the crowd of over three hundred people were going wild. 

Being with Rolling Stone Magazine—and having attended his fair share of concerts—Ian wasn’t too impressed with any of it. He crossed his arms and cleared his throat, anxious to get the show on the road. He was looking forward to seeing how Mickey and the rest of the band performed and interacted with the crowd; anxious to see how Mickey sounded live and to witness his stage presence. He needed to get as much information for his piece as he could get. 

“How is everyone doing tonight?” a man on the stage (the club owner, Ian was assuming) asked, amping the crowd up even more in the process. “You guys ready to get this party started?”

Ian rolled his eyes at the lame intro. 

“Their first single, Render You Stupid, rose to the top of the charts in a matter of a couple of weeks. Their debut album, Slay, comes out next month. Everyone, please give it up for The Mongers!” The yells and screams turned almost deafening as the strobe lights twirled and the fog machine choked out smoke. 

Suddenly, The Mongers appeared on stage, and Ian straightened a little when he saw Mickey in rock star mode. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Mickey exclaimed with his lips pressed against his microphone, and he strummed his electric guitar a few times for effect. “I said how’s everyone doin’ tonight?” he yelled again, causing the crowd to cheer louder. “You ready to fuckin’ rock?” 

As the crowd erupted, Ian watched as Mickey nodded his head back towards Iggy. 

Iggy nodded in affirmation and showed off by doing a short drum solo that eventually eased into a recognizable beat. 

“You may have heard this one before…this is Render You Stupid,” Mickey rasped before taking a step back from the mic and playing his guitar.

Ian took it all in, a small smile tugging at his lips. Mickey Milkovich definitely had amazing stage presence, he couldn't deny that. As Mickey stepped back up to the mic and began singing, the small smile slipped from Ian’s face. He had heard Mickey’s voice before on the radio, but never live. It was raspy and deep and…kinda really fucking hot. 

Ian looked over his shoulder to scan the revved-up crowd behind him, and quickly turned back around when he spotted a girl lifting her shirt up and showing her boobs to Mickey.

By the fourth song, Mickey was flustered and sweating, his dark hair sticking up in spikes. He was wearing a dark blue tank top, and his toned forearms were glistening. Ian really didn’t want to be fucking attracted to the guy, but he was. 

It was hard not to be.

Mickey took a swig from his water bottle, wiped at his forehead with his bare bicep, and then sat down on a stool in the middle of the stage. The lights dimmed a little, and the crowd quieted down mildly when Mickey began speaking.

“We’re going to slow things down here for a minute,” Mickey said breathlessly.

Ian found that he was hanging onto every word that came out of Mickey’s mouth.

“This next song is a song that I wrote last summer. I was going through something pretty fuckin’ rough, and...well, it’s called Shut You Out.” Mickey cleared his throat, nodded back at Iggy, and then wrapped a hand around his mic and leaned in close. He closed his eyes, waited a beat, and then he began to sing.

Ian watched transfixed as Mickey sang. The song was mid-tempo, almost slow—different from their previous songs—and it was about a failed relationship. It was raw and emotional and kind of fucking beautiful. Mickey’s voice was raspy and sent chills down Ian’s spine.

Ian’s intrigue multiplied tenfold, much to his chagrin.

He continued watching Mickey, taking in everything Mickey was singing. It was a song about hurt and mistrust and deceit. 

Jesus Christ, who the hell hurt this guy? Ian wanted to know now, more than ever.

Throughout the song, Mickey had been singing with his eyes closed. Towards the end of the song, as he sang the last verse, the tempo slowed down even more, and Mickey opened his eyes and looked right at Ian. 

Ian’s heart caught in his throat and he stared right back. Before he could even process the look and what it meant, Mickey was done singing and the song was over. A fast, choppy tempo took over, and Mickey was back to being the rambunctious, wild, head-banging frontman. 

The last verse of the previous song stuck out in Ian’s head: _maybe someday I’ll forgive you / but I’ll never fucking forget / I know that I’ll move on from you / but I’ll always have the regret._

Ian watched the rest of The Mongers set with a knot in his belly.

  


* * *

 

After the show, the band—along with Ian, Kevin, and the stage crew—were ushered into a private VIP room in the back of the nightclub so that they could celebrate the first show of the tour. 

Bottles of champagne were popped, and girls wearing skimpy tops and booty shorts walked around carrying trays of shots. 

Ian was sitting in one of the booths, watching as Mickey and Iggy chatted with one of the shot girls; a pretty, petite blonde with big boobs. He rolled his eyes and tossed back his own shot before glancing back at the brothers. He couldn’t help but notice that Iggy seemed to be a hell of a lot more interested in chatting with the hot girl than Mickey was. 

Mickey looked up then, locking eyes with Ian from across the small, crowded VIP room.

Ian stared back, letting Mickey break the eye contact first.

“So, what’d you think of the show?” Mandy asked as she plopped down next to Ian. She handed Ian a bottle of beer before taking a sip of her own. 

“You guys were fuckin’ awesome,” Ian answered with a small smile, his face feeling hot. “You sound great live. Not a lot of bands do.”

Mandy winked as she took another sip of her beer. 

“Shove over, faggots.”

Ian looked up to find Mickey standing next to their table. They locked eyes again, and Ian felt his heart rate speed up. The fuck was wrong with him?

After Ian and Mandy scooted over in the crescent-shaped booth, Mickey slid in next to Ian. 

“What’re you dickheads talking about?” Mickey asked around the mouth of his bottle, his eyes dark and intense as he looked at Ian. 

“Ian was just telling me how awesome and amazing we are,” Mandy said, snaking an arm around Ian’s neck. “Weren’t you, Ian?”

“Oh, yeah?” Mickey rasped. 

"Yeah," Ian replied as he picked at the label of his beer bottle.

Mandy pulled her arm away from Ian’s neck and slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back, gotta use the little girl’s room. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

Ian and Mickey sat without speaking to each other as they both looked around. 

Ian decided to speak first. “You guys really were awesome tonight. One of the best live performances I’ve seen in a while, and I’ve seen a lot.”

Mickey grunted in reply, his eyes sweeping over the crowded room.

Awkward silence ensued and Ian sipped his beer, all the while sneaking tentative glances in Mickey’s direction every so often. Up close, Mickey Milkovich was really fucking nice to look at…and he smelled good, too. 

Ian then forced himself to look away. He looked over in Iggy’s direction to find Iggy making out with the shot girl. 

“Your brother doesn’t waste any time, does he?”

Mickey chortled as he took a sip of his beer. “Nah, man. Iggy'll fuck anything with tits. Hell, throw some tits on you and he'd probably fuck you.”

Ian eyed Mickey’s profile as he chose his next words carefully. “And what about you?” he asked, immediately noticing the way Mickey’s hand froze in midair as he was bringing his beer bottle to his lips.

“What about me, what?” Mickey snapped, clearly taken aback by the question. 

“You fuck a lot of groupies?” Ian asked, his eyes briefly dropping to Mickey’s lips before looking back up. “The lead singer of a rock band? You looking the way you do. I bet you get a lot of tail.” 

Mickey stared back at Ian, his eyebrows furrowed. “The fuck’s this? This you trying to get dirt for your fuckin’ lame article? I come over here, trying to be cordial and shit, and you try to get information out of me?”

“Nope.” Ian shook his head and leaned back casually with his arms strewn across the back of the booth. “Completely off the record.” 

Mickey kept his eyes locked with Ian’s for a few seconds longer before finally averting his gaze. “I’m the fuckin’ lead singer of a rock band, and I constantly have chicks throwin’ themselves at me. The fuck do you think?”

Ian watched as Mickey’s moist, plump lips wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle. He then watched as Mickey’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he chugged. Fuck. Why was that so fucking hot?

“In fact,” Mickey said as he slid out of the booth. “I’m about to go get some now. See ya back on the bus, Archie.” He chugged the rest of his beer, placed his bottle on the table, and then turned to head into the crowd.

Ian kept his eyes on Mickey and watched with a hammering heart as Mickey walked up to one of the shot girls and gently took her by the elbow. The girl leaned in towards Mickey, smiled at what he said, and then placed her tray of shots down before turning to wrap her arms around Mickey’s neck. 

Mickey placed his hands on the girl’s hips and, after the girl moved in to whisper something into his ear, Mickey locked eyes with Ian over her shoulder.

Ian brought his bottle back up to his lips and took a sip as he stared back.

If he didn’t know any better, he would think that Mickey was putting on a show.

  


* * *

 

Mickey quickly regretted approaching the girl.

After only a few minutes of dancing and choppy conversation, the girl was getting clingy and not-so-discreetly kept grabbing his dick through his pants. It was clear that she was excited about the prospect of fucking a rock star. That just wasn't fucking happening. He sighed and reached down to grab her wrist. 

"What's wrong?" the girl asked with a pout, as if that shit would work on him. 

Mickey chanced another look in Ian's direction to find Ian now talking to Mandy, who had returned from the bathroom. He relaxed a little and looked back down at the girl, whose name was April? Amanda? Who the fuck knew. "Sorry, not tonight. Just not feelin' it."

"Come on," the girl said, pressing against him even closer. "Let's go somewhere more private. I'll change your mind. I'll make sure you feel it."

Mickey took a step back, once again silently berating himself for getting himself in such a fucked up situation. He didn't know what he had been thinking. All he knew was that Ian had started asking personal shit about his sex life. And then Ian had leaned back in the booth, smelling and looking and sounding so fucking good, and Mickey immediately knew he had to throw up his defenses and get away from Ian as soon as fucking possible.

"Sorry, not my type," Mickey finally blurted before turning away to head to the small bar.

"Prick," he heard the girl mutter under her breath. 

Mickey reached the bar and ordered another beer. He glanced back towards Ian once again and sighed heavily. He had a feeling the guy was going to be even more trouble than Mickey had originally thought.

  


* * *

 

Later that night, after taking a lukewarm shower in the tour bus's freakishly small shower, Ian quickly dried himself off, slipped on a pair of sweats, and then walked towards the bunk area as he towel-dried his hair. Snores were already coming from Mandy and Iggy's bunks, and Ian was surprised to find that Mickey was still wide awake in his own bunk, shirtless and writing away in a notebook. 

"You're still up."

"Keen eye, wise guy."

Ian sighed as he sat down in his bunk, making sure not to hit his head. He watched Mickey for a few seconds, trying not to stare at Mickey's bare upper body too much."What're you writing?"

"None of your fuckin' business, that's what I'm writing." 

Ian ran a hand through his damp hair before trying again. "I meant what I said. You guys were really awesome tonight. Especially you." He wanted to tell Mickey how he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of him during the whole show, but Ian refrained. He really didn't feel like getting punched.

Mickey remained quiet as he continued scribbling. 

Ian tried not to pay too much attention to the way Mickey gnawed on his lower lip. "That song you sang tonight…the slow one. Did you really write that?"

"Yeah," Mickey snipped. "Why?" 

Ian shrugged, surprised that he had even gotten that much out of the other man. "It was good, that's all. Really fuckin' good." He then paused, wondering if he should press for more information. He didn't want to push too much. "You said you wrote it from experience. What d—"

"Look, Rusty, I'm trying to write here, do you fuckin' mind?" Mickey blurted, finally lifting his dark eyes to glance at Ian. 

Ian nodded. "Yeah, sure." He decided to cut his losses and try another time. He swung his legs and laid back in his bunk. He stared up into the darkness and listened as Mickey continued writing. "I'm sorry," he found himself saying after a short while. Mickey's scribbling stopped. Ian swallowed thickly. "For whatever happened to you…for whatever that song was about. Sounded like some pretty heavy shit." 

Silence ensued for a handful of seconds before Mickey cleared his throat. "Whatever. Go to sleep." 

Ian continued staring into the darkness as Mickey went back to writing.

After a few minutes, exhaustion got the best of him and Ian closed his eyes. He was right on the verge of sleep when he heard it.

"Thanks," Mickey mumbled.

Ian smiled softly into the darkness, deciding to leave it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to pick up soon, I promise! Get ready for some angst and a lot of sexual tension ;)


	4. The Warning

Two nights later, The Mongers were finishing up their second show in front of a deafening crowd of four-hundred-and-fifty people.

Ian was standing in the front row, alongside Kevin, once again completely enthralled by Mickey’s stage presence. 

Offstage, Mickey was snarky, rude, and callous. Ian didn’t care much for offstage Mickey. But once Mickey stepped onto that stage, opened his mouth and sang, well… that was a Mickey that Ian could see himself getting behind… literally. 

Ian once again shook those thoughts from his head. He had to remind himself—yet again—that he was on an assignment, and that onstage Mickey wasn’t real. _That_ Mickey was an act. The last thing Ian needed was to get caught up in the whole fucking-a-rock-star fantasy. He was a writer for a hugely-popular entertainment magazine, not a goddamn groupie.

“They really do have a great sound, don’t they?” Kevin yelled over the sound of the cheering crowd.

Ian had to tear his eyes away from Mickey when he realized he was being spoken to. “Huh? Oh, yeah. They’re great. They’re really good live. Mickey’s… something special.”

“Fuckin’ A! After the shit they’ve gone through the past year, I’m surprised we’re even here,” Kevin exclaimed over the noise. “Mickey wanted to quit it all.”

Ian opened his mouth to ask him to elaborate, but Kevin was already turning away to chat with one of the security guards. 

He glanced back at the stage just as Mickey was finishing the band’s final song. He was surprised (and kind of fucking confused) when Mickey locked eyes with him. Mickey only looked away from the intense look when Mandy walked over to him to do a fancy riff on her bass guitar to end the song. 

Ian frowned a little. Even though Mickey treated him like he was less than nothing most of the time, the lingering glances were starting to get a little suspicious. Ian didn’t know if he was just imagining things, and he knew the worst thing he could do was to dwell or think too much about it, but it still threw him for a fucking loop. 

Almost a week on the road with the guy, and Ian felt like he was gaining more questions than answers. 

After the concert ended, the band exited through the back of the club with Ian and crew in tow, to head towards their awaiting bus.

Ian was walking a few yards behind Mickey, watching as Mickey and one of the stage crew guys talked. He didn’t know why the fact that Mickey was laughing and talking with the guy didn’t sit too well with him, but it didn’t. _Fuck._ He really needed to get his fucking head out of his ass. 

“Hey,” Mandy said suddenly from beside him. She looped her arm through his and bumped his hip with hers. “Kev’s being nice to us tonight. He’s letting us get rooms.”

Ian frowned, still slightly distracted. “Rooms?”

“Yeah, hotel rooms.”

“What’s wrong with the bus?” Ian asked as he once again averted his eyes in Mickey’s direction. Mickey and the stage crew guy were now stopped and facing each other. Mickey was leaning in close to the guy as the guy held up a lighter to light Mickey’s cigarette. Ian didn’t like the feeling he got in his chest at the sight. 

“Nothing’s wrong with the bus. It’s just that sometimes it’s nice to get to sleep in an actual bed, have some fucking space, and get out of each other’s hair for a little while, ya know.” 

“Oh,” Ian answered, having only heard some of what she’d said.

“Plus, it’ll be really fuckin’ nice to take a nice, hot, bubble bath.”

“Yeah,” Ian said distractedly. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Who is that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy Mickey’s talking to,” Ian said, trying to seem nonchalant about the question. 

Mandy turned her head to look. “Oh, that’s Chad. He’s stage crew. He and Mickey are pretty good friends. Why?”

“No reason,” Ian said, taking note of the way that Chad was smiling at Mickey. From the angle he had, Ian couldn’t see Mickey’s reaction, but he could tell by Mickey’s relaxed posture and the sound of his laugh that he didn’t mind the guy being close.

Before Mandy could say anything else, Iggy came up from behind them and wrapped his arms around their shoulders. “Yo, numbnuts. What’s the sleeping arrangements for tonight? We’re getting two rooms.”

“Well, we all know Mickey and Ian aren’t shacking up. One of them would be dead by morning,” Mandy quipped. “All those pillows around to suffocate each other with? We can’t risk it.”

Iggy pulled away and puffed on his cigarette as he eyed Ian up. “I don’t want to share a room with Orphan Annie over here. Asshole might molest me while I’m sleepin’”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian exclaimed. “Why, because I’m gay? Fuck you.”

Iggy blew his smoke in Ian’s face, and then laughed. “Relax, I’m just fucking with ya.”

Ian shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face. _This fucking guy._

“I can share a room with him,” Mandy said with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“You heard him, right?” Iggy inquired. “Dude’s gay. Sleep in the same room all you want, don’t think you’ll be getting any dick from him.”

Mandy slapped Iggy hard on the back of the head. “Fuck you, asshole, I know he’s gay. And I’m not a whore.”

Ian opened his mouth to throw in his own two cents, but immediately froze up when Mickey walked up. 

“What’re you assholes arguing about?” Mickey asked, his cigarette dangling loosely from his plump, bottom lip. 

Ian did everything he could to not stare. He crossed his arms over his chest, and absolutely refused to look in Mickey’s direction. When Mickey moved to hand Mandy the cigarette for her to take, his arm brushed ever-so-slightly against Ian’s. Ian couldn’t deny the spark he felt at the touch, and he knew he was getting himself into a situation he had no fucking right getting himself into.

Being attracted to Mickey Milkovich was the worst possible thing that could happen to Ian.

For one, it could ruin his whole article and likely cost him his job.

For two, Mickey Milkovich was as straight as they came, and who knew what he would do if he knew the thoughts Ian was having about him. 

For three, even though Ian barely thought about Tim, he was still Ian’s almost-boyfriend and factored into the situation. 

Just as Ian was thinking up more reasons as to why being attracted to Mickey Milkovich was a terrible fucking idea, Mickey’s voice broke him from his thoughts. 

“Wanna hit this?”

“Huh?” Ian asked dumbly, finally looking in Mickey’s direction. 

Mickey looked awesome. His hair was damp and mussed from sweat. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes were bright and blue as he stared back at Ian in mild amusement. 

“I asked if you wanted to take a hit of my cigarette,” Mickey answered, enunciating his words.

Ian quickly looked away from Mickey’s gaze and down at the cigarette he was offering. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he said as he took the proffered smoke. When his and Mickey’s fingers grazed, his heart rate quickened. 

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Ian had always had a knack for getting himself into fucked up situations; always getting attracted to guys he couldn’t have; married bosses, married older men with kids, straight rock stars… 

He really needed to get his fucking act together. 

“Ian and I are going to share a room,” Mandy piped in. 

“So I get stuck with Iggy’s ass?” Mickey groused. 

“The fuck, man? What’s wrong with sharing a room with my ass?” 

“The fact that you snore like a fucking freight train,” Mickey snipped. “The fact that you sleep buck ass naked. No one wants to see that shit.”

Iggy sucked his teeth. “Bitch, you should consider yourself fuckin’ lucky.”

“Iggy is your only option… unless you _want_ to share a room with Ian,” Mandy offered with a smirk. 

“Fuck no, I’m not sharing a room with him,” Mickey interjected. “I’ll take my chances with Iggy.”

Ian was equally relieved and offended by Mickey’s answer, but kept quiet. He knew the last thing he needed was to be alone in a hotel room with Mickey all night, so it was for the best. 

“Whatever, assholes, let’s go. It’s fuckin’ cold out here,” Iggy bitched as he turned to head towards the running tour bus.

Ian shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoody and started following after Iggy. After he’d gotten a few feet away, he caught the words _‘you need to be careful’_ and _‘he saw you and Chad’_ come from Mandy. He turned to look over his shoulder to see that Mandy had purposely held Mickey back to talk privately with him.

He frowned and turned to keep walking, wondering just what Mandy was warning Mickey to be careful about.

  


* * *

  


Mandy watched until Ian was a few yards away before turning to face her brother. She wasn’t surprised to catch Mickey staring after Ian. 

Mickey finally pried his eyes away from Ian to catch Mandy watching him. “The fuck’re you lookin’ at?”

Mandy wasn’t stupid. She knew that Mickey found Ian attractive. She also knew that Ian felt the same way about Mickey. She didn’t miss the secret, lingering looks. She knew it was only a matter of time before they fucked. She had every intention on making sure nothing happened between the two of them. Mickey getting involved with a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine—of all fucking people—was the last thing they needed. 

“You need to be careful.”

“The fuck’re you talking about?” Mickey asked around his cigarette, his eyebrows arched to show his irritation.

“He saw you and Chad.”

“Yeah? So the fuck what? We were just talking.” 

“You were being flirty.” 

“With Chad? Yeah fuckin’ right,” Mickey said with a sneer.

“Oh, please. Don’t think I don’t know about the night you let him suck your dick,” Mandy retorted as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I… fuck,” Mickey said, giving up his defense with a heavy sigh. “How the fuck did you know about that? I had him sign a non-disclosure agreement, and it was one fucking time.” 

“I know everything, asshole,” Mandy assured him. She then sighed and said, “You were flirting and Ian saw you. He was asking questions. Just… tone it the fuck down before you get caught.”

“Alright, fuck,” Mickey snapped. “We done?”

“No,” Mandy said. “Stop flirting with the guy.”

“I already said I wouldn’t, fuck!”

“Not Chad… Ian.” 

Mickey reached up and rubbed at his lower lip, his eyes averted to the ground, and that was when Mandy knew she had him. He was guilty.

Still, he tried to deny it. “I’m not fuckin’ flirting with him. I actually can’t stand the fuckin’ guy, so you got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Yeah, you may be fooling everyone else, including Ian, but I know you, asshole. I know you like what you see, and I also know you like to fuck anything that walks and has a cock. He’s off-limits, you got it? He’s here to write an article about the band, that’s it. Keep your dick in your pants. Remember what happened the last time you decided to think with your dick and not your head?”

“Fuck you, I remember,” Mickey said flatly. “How the fuck can you even ask me that?”

Mandy sighed and reached out to squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry. You know I’m just looking out for you; for all of us.” 

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face and looked away. 

“I’ll see you on the bus.” Mandy then turned to head to the bus, leaving her brother to watch after her dejectedly.

  


* * *

  


A little while later, Ian was reclining on one of the two queen-sized beds in his and Mandy’s fancy hotel room. He was flipping through an entertainment magazine, since there was nothing decent on the TV, when there was a crude knock on the door.

Ian looked over at the clock on the bedside table to see that it was a little after one in the morning. He sighed, reluctantly got up from the comfortable bed, and walked to the door, wondering who would bother visiting them so late. 

He opened the door and froze upon seeing that their visitor was Mickey. Mickey was wearing a sleeveless Black Sabbath t-shirt and loose sweatpants.

Ian swallowed hard and watched as Mickey leaned coolly against the doorjamb. He then watched as Mickey’s stare dropped, and Ian suddenly remembered that he was shirtless. The way Mickey was looking at him caused Ian's heart to race and his skin to feel hot. 

Mickey dragged his gaze back up to Ian’s face, and then said, “Mandy here?” 

“She’s, uh, she’s in the shower,” Ian said, trying to appear cool, calm, and collected. 

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “Can I come in, or are we gonna fucking stand in the doorway all night?”

“It’s kinda late,” Ian said lamely. He knew that the least amount of time he spent with Mickey, the better… which, he knew, made absolutely no sense considering that spending time with Mickey was the very reason why he was on the road with them.

Mickey scoffed and brushed roughly past Ian and entered the room. He sat down on Ian’s bed and made himself comfortable against the headboard. “Iggy’s already passed the fuck out. Fucking lightweight. Thought I’d come bug you assholes for a bit.”

Ian tried not to think too much about the fact that Mickey was on his bed. He looked Mickey over and finally realized that Mickey had bottles of mini-bar liquor with him. “Wait, are you drunk?”

“Gettin’ there,” Mickey said before burping crudely. 

Ian crossed his arms over his bare chest and continued standing by the door, not knowing what else to do or say. 

Mickey watched him with raised eyebrows. “You just gonna stand there all night?” 

Ian hesitated before walking over to a chair in the corner and sitting down. There was no way in hell he was going to sit on the bed with Mickey. The further away he stayed from Mickey, the better.

Mickey tossed a mini bottle in Ian’s direction. “Here, catch up.”

Ian caught the bottle awkwardly against his chest. “I don’t really want… it’s late, I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a fuckin’ goody-two-shoes. You’re on the road with a fuckin’ rock band. Isn’t getting high and drunk part of the experience?”

Ian didn’t respond.

“It’s just one drink, won’t hurt ya,” Mickey assured. When Ian still didn’t say anything, he sighed and sucked his teeth. “I’m trying to fuckin’ be amicable, asshole. Just take the drink.”

Ian thought about it and then, finally, he quirked a smile. He opened the small bottle and downed the whiskey in two long gulps. He then choked and coughed as his throat burned. “Fuck, that’s gross.”

Mickey laughed before taking a swig of his own liquor. 

Ian laughed too, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looked back up, he found Mickey watching him. He swallowed thickly, waiting.

“You get ten minutes a day.”

“What?” Ian asked, confused. 

“I know you’re just here to do your job. You’re not going anywhere, and… even though I hate to fuckin’ admit it, this article can be really fuckin’ good for us. So, I’m gonna stop being an asshole and help you out. But I got other shit I need to be doing, other shit to worry about, but I’ll give you ten minutes a day. And I’ll only answer what I want to answer. Only tell you what I wanna fuckin’ tell you. Got it? No bullshit.” 

Ian nodded firmly and sat forward in his seat. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” 

Mickey looked down at the small bottle in his hand, his thumb picking at the label. After a pause, he said, “You saw somethin’ earlier. You wanna ask me about it now, while I’m giving you the chance to?”

Ian frowned. “What? No, I…I didn’t see anything. I—”

“Stop with the bullshit. Mandy told me you were asking questions,” Mickey interrupted. “When I was talking to Chad. What fuckin’ questions?”

“I was…I just wanted to know who the guy was, that’s all.” 

“You assumin’ shit about me?” Mickey asked gruffly. “None of this article shit is going to work if you just go around assuming shit.”

“No, I wasn’t assuming anything,” Ian stammered. “I was just wondering who the guy was that you were talking to. That’s all. I thought it might be good for me to know everyone’s names for… for the article.”

Mickey watched Ian, his tongue slowly moving over his bottom lip.

Ian stared back, his heart hammering in his throat. For some reason, he had a feeling that Mickey didn’t believe him.

“Whatever you think you might know about me… you’re wrong,” Mickey finally said after a long pause. “As long as you remember that, we’re good. Got it?”

“I don’t think I know anything,” Ian replied, sitting back. “Your personal life is off limits. I get that.”

Mickey nodded slightly, and then dropped his eyes to Ian’s bare chest. “Good,” he rasped before clearing his throat, looking away, and standing up. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He headed towards the door to leave. 

“Yep. Same page,” Ian said, his eyes dropping to admire Mickey’s ass. When he looked back up, he found Mickey watching him.

Without saying anything more, Mickey left.

Ian stood up and walked back to his bed, a faint smile on his face.

  


* * *

  


Outside in the hallway, Mickey leaned back against the door and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he grumbled under his breath.

Going to Mandy and Ian’s room had been a huge fucking mistake. Seeing Ian wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants—looking fresh and damp from a shower—was the last fucking thing Mickey needed.

The fact that he was half-drunk hadn’t helped matters at all. Mickey wouldn’t be fucking surprised if Ian had noticed his blatant staring. 

The whole purpose of him going to see Ian had been to try to rectify the whole Chad situation, and to tell Ian to mind his own fucking business, and to not worry or think too much about his personal life. Instead, he had spent the whole time staring at the guy’s fucking chest and abs, basically undermining everything he’d claimed to Ian. 

He was such a fucking idiot.

He needed to put a stop to the situation as soon as possible.

Mickey decided right then and there that Mandy was right. He needed to be smart about it all; he needed to think with his head and stop thinking with his dick. 

He was going to jump at the next opportunity he had to get fucked by someone. He needed to do something to distract himself from the irritating, intrusive, annoyingly fucking hot redhead on the other side of the door.

His career depended on it.

  


* * *

  


As they were all boarding the tour bus to get back on the road the next day, Ian’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He sighed as he shifted his bag and reached into his pocket, not really in the mood to talk to Tim. He had been dodging Tim’s call for days. He knew he would eventually have to answer him, but right then wasn’t the time.

A small part of Ian was hoping that Tim would eventually get the hint and stop calling. He doubted it, though. He had been dropping hints to Tim for months now that he wanted to end things, and still… Tim stuck around.

He was only slightly relieved to see that it was his boss Belinda calling him, and not his clueless boyfriend. 

“Hello?”

“Ian!” Belinda bellowed. “How are things going out on the road?”

“Uh,” Ian began as he looked around the bustling parking lot. He spotted Mickey standing yards away with Iggy and a crew member. “They’re going… ” 

“You living the rock star life out there?”

“Um, well, I smoked a few cigarettes the other day, had a couple shots of whiskey last night,” Ian answered with a smile his boss couldn’t see.

“You badass! Got anything juicy for me yet?” 

“Nothing, uh, nothing too juicy,” Ian said as he continued to watch Mickey. Their conversation from the night before was still resonating in his head. 

Mickey had admitted in a roundabout way that he wasn’t gay, but the way Mickey had stared at his half-naked body had certainly told a different story.

“Get as much dirt as you can,” Belinda ordered, breaking Ian from his scandalous thoughts.

Ian frowned. “What? Dirt? I thought we were writing a clean article?”

“We are, but we need _something_ interesting, Ian! We can’t just have an article about the band sitting around on a tour bus for three weeks, staring at the walls,” Belinda said with a laugh. “Our magazine wouldn’t be where it is today if we always played it safe.”

“Right,” Ian said as he rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. 

“I have to go, I have a meeting in ten minutes with Zayn’s people. I was just calling to check in. I’ll call back in a few days for an update. Don’t disappoint me, Ian. I’m counting on you with this one. It’s huge.” 

“I got it,” Ian replied glumly. “Don’t worry, I won’t disappoint you.” 

After hanging up, Ian turned around to find Mickey standing directly behind him. 

“Everything okay, Archie? You look like someone just told you that your fuckin’ dog died.”

“Yeah,” Ian replied. He hung his head and scratched at the back of his neck, unable to look Mickey in the eyes. “That was… that was my boss just checking in, seeing how the article’s going.”

Mickey nodded and looked around the parking lot, his eyes squinting in the sun. He then jerked his head towards the bus. “Come on, let’s go get settled in. We’ll sit down and I’ll answer some of your questions. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the boss lady.” 

Ian watched as Mickey turned away to climb the steps and enter the bus. He let out a slow sigh and tried to ignore the feeling of uneasiness he felt in the pit of his stomach.

He was suddenly wondering just how much dirt his boss was expecting him to get, and wondered how far she was willing to push him to get it.

  


* * *

  


After getting resettled on the bus and getting back on the road, Ian followed Mickey to the back of the bus after getting promises from Mandy and Iggy to not interrupt them.

Iggy had, of course, made a snide remark about the two of them getting it on; to which Ian rolled his eyes and Mickey gave him the finger.

Mickey sat down in his bunk while Ian sat down in his own bunk that was directly across from Mickey’s. 

“So,” Mickey spoke first. “Don’t you need a little fucking recorder thing or something to take notes with?”

“Nope,” Ian said. “I’ll remember everything you tell me.” Ian still couldn’t believe that after days of stubbornly resisting, that Mickey was finally agreeing to sit down with him. Now that he actually had Mickey’s undivided attention, he didn’t know where to start.

“Alright, so… what the fuck do you wanna know?”

Ian rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans and cleaned his throat. Being alone with Mickey in such close proximity was proving to be hell on Ian’s nerves. “Uh, is there anything you want me to know? Anything you want to make sure is in the article?” 

Mickey licked at his bottom lip. “I just want you to keep shit real. I want you to tell our story, let people know what we’re about. That’s all I’m asking.” 

Ian nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“I’m fuckin’ trusting you here. I hope you know hard that is for me to do.”

Ian lifted his eyes to meet Mickey’s and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.” 

“I don’t do that with a lot of people, so don’t screw me over,” Mickey finished.

Ian swallowed thickly and ran a hand over his hair, trying his best to forget his boss’s words. His eyes then fell to Mickey’s hands. Before he could think too much about it, he asked. “First question. What’s with the tattoos? Fuck you up?” 

Mickey stretched out his fingers and looked down at his ink. “Yeah. Got ‘em when I was fourteen. Pretty badass, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied, and then smiled when his and Mickey’s eyes met. “Badass.”

“People are usually pretty intimidated by them,” Mickey said. “What they don’t know is that… it's an empty threat. Usually my bark is worse than my bite.” 

Ian found that he was still smiling… and, surprisingly, so was Mickey. “So, not as tough as you want people to think you are, huh?”

“Nah, man,” Mickey answered. “Don’t put that shit in your article, though. Don’t want people to think I’m fuckin’ soft. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Ian’s smile widened into a grin, and then he laughed. 

Mickey laughed, too… and that was when Ian realized that maybe Mickey wasn’t so bad. On top of being incredibly fucking hot and an awesome singer, Mickey was deep. He had many layers that Ian found himself wanting to expose. 

Ian wanted to know everything about him. 

_Fuck._


End file.
